


The End

by RussianWitch



Category: Terminator (Movies), Terminator Genisys (2015)
Genre: Anal Sex, I Don't Even Know, M/M, Mind Games, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-13
Updated: 2016-12-13
Packaged: 2018-09-08 08:03:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8836780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RussianWitch/pseuds/RussianWitch
Summary: After the revelations at the hospital—all Kyle can do is run, and desperately want the thing that's masquerading as John dead. Not even because John said 'yes' to Skynet, he isn't that petty, it's because John never said 'no' to him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> not beta'd  
> someone mentioned there wasn't enough of this pairing...this is probably not what they were hoping for

After the revelations at the hospital—all Kyle can do is run, and desperately want the thing that's masquerading as John dead. Not even because John said 'yes' to Skynet, he isn't that petty, it's because John never said 'no' to him. 

John Connor rescued him from the darkness and death of Judgment Day's devastation, descending like an avenging angel from heaven to lead Kyle out into the dim light of day. Not that getting saved improved things much—but at least he had John, lucky boy that he was. 

Most children, orphan or not, got shipped off to 'kid farms' far away from the machine hot zones where they trained and worked under heavy guard. Kyle had seen a few of those farms over the years traveling around with John, the conditions there made him feel grateful all over that John broke his own rules and kept him. 

Kyle might have gone hungry more often at John's side, might have taken up the fight far younger than most did, but John cared: he saw Kyle as a person instead of an asset. Sometimes John was too busy with the war, but when he was there: he was *there*. All in all, Kyle was better off than those kids who ended up on the 'farms' reared like animals to the slaughter.  

Of course there had always been whispers, at first he hadn't really understood what people were getting at, why some laughed and others glared in disgust. There weren't a lot of children, there weren't a lot of relationships either: when you're terrified and hungry, you don't have the energy for anything but survival. Sometimes the adults would get nostalgic in the middle of the night, when they were pretty sure they were safe, and someone managed to produce some moonshine. During downtime people remembered, they told stories and sometimes, some people would sneak off together. 

No one ever paid attention to the pairs. Though men sneaking off with women was frowned upon by many: over the years birth control had become difficult to find and a soldier, or technician becoming unavailable because someone hadn't been able to keep it in their pants? That put everyone in danger. 

Only John never seemed to indulge. He never broke down and sought out the company or some man or woman, and maybe that had been part of the problem in the end. Savior of humanity or not, people talked: they talked about Kyle, and the fact that John broke his own rules to keep him by his side—things boys were good for before they are old enough to hold a gun and defend the human race. 

Looking back, Kyle can't pinpoint the moment when he'd started to believe the rumors himself. Sometimes around sixteen or so, wanting to be just like John Connor had changed in to just wanting. It made sense: John was older, would know what he was doing, cared for Kyle, so wouldn't hurt him—and it's not like there were any people his own age around. 

The first time he crawled into John's sleeping bag had been after one of those downtime parties. John had been drinking a little too much counting, for once, on the people surrounding him to protect him from the rest of the world. He hadn't been drunk exactly, not dead drunk, but drunk enough that he hadn't reacted at once when Kyle wiggled into his sleeping bag. By the time John started to protest, Kyle's hand had already been on John's dick that happily swelled in his grasp. They hadn't done much then: just rubbed off on each other and fell asleep tangled together and content. 

No one had commented, few had cared: as long as John managed to keep all of them alive and fighting he could do what he wanted. So they did every time they had a chance, Kyle would push and John would give in dragging him off into the shadows to fuck him roughly braced against some grimy wall, or somewhere 'safe' where they could actually clean up and John could take Kyle apart with his mouth, leaving possessive marks on Kyle's skin. 

Getting a picture of John's mother for his birthday when he turns eighteen. The picture is old and damaged, but it's the only shred of 'what used to be' Kyle has and he treasures it. When John is not around, as he is more and more often now that Kyle is of age, the picture is the only connection he has to his—something. He memorizes every line, every color of the photograph, imagines what the young woman had felt when the photograph was taken. Had she been pregnant with John already? Had she known how important she was going to be? Or had she died before—everything. 

From the stories John used to tell him about his youth, about his mother, Kyle repeated all he could remember while alone. He'd repeated them to himself so often that sometimes it seemed that they'd happened to him, that once upon a time he'd known Sarah Connor. Sometimes, he loved her more than John because Sarah was always with him while her son couldn't be. Eventually he reconciled loving them both: one comforting him in the dark of night, and the other giving him hope in the bleak light of day.  

Sacrificing himself in John's stead at the very eve of their victory hadn't even been a decision. Volunteering Kyle had felt like he'd been preparing for the last all of his life—knowing what he knows now, he probably had been. John had done everything in his power to make Kyle care of his mother, safe not sticking his dick in his own father. 

John's invitations to join him, to become one of the machines; one of the monsters make Kyle sick. It's all too easy to read between the lines of the invitations: it wouldn't just be Skynet he would be saying to, it would be John as well now in full knowledge of what they are to each other.  

Kyle kills John for the offer. 

Or tries to. 

He does manage to help Sarah safe herself, her and the tin can that seems to think it is her parent. They level Skynet and somehow manage to get away from the wreckage before law enforcement gets there. Sarah gives his younger self a message to remember—Kyle can barely keep himself from telling her 'no', can barely keep himself from grabbing the kid and screaming at him not to trust John Connor, no matter how tempting it is, and certainly not to fall in love with the bastard just because he saves Kyle's life. 

Kyle can't bring himself to explain to Sarah _why_ he doesn't want his younger self to carry the message, would prefer to tell him to run the other way as soon as he hears the name 'Connor'. Only he doesn't, because if everything goes to shit anyway this message might mean the difference between humanity dying out and victory. So he doesn't say anything and lets Sarah do as she wants. 

After, neither of them know what to do with themselves. 

Kyle hasn't known anything but war and survival, and Sarah may have lived in a 'normal' world but she hasn't exactly had a usual life either, but at least she has something called a 'high school diploma' something that Kyle will also need if he ever wants to get a job. The world doesn't make sense to Kyle, but he manages: he's been trained to manage and he can't exactly think what else he's supposed to do but survive. Sarah helps him along, they even become something like friends despite fate scheming for them to spawn the Messiah. 

Three years after they blow up Skynet, on the anniversary of Kyle's arrival, they get dead drunk in celebration—and in the morning Sarah is gone. He's left with a trailer, some weapons and some cash, a GED and a decent idea of the workings of the world, but without even a hint of where she's gone off to. The 'celebration' is mostly a black hole in his brain—and the few flashes he gets on occasion make Kyle grateful he doesn't actually remember anything clearly.  

Five years after they blow up Skynet, Kyle walks out onto his porch in the middle of the night having woken up from a nightmare, thinking about John and Sarah and that he seemed to have been the Connor family bitch from birth to see John Connor standing on the street right across from his house. 

There are a lot of things he can do: run inside, go for the guns he still keeps hidden all over the place by habit, just run, maybe blow his brain out. Instead he waits for John to cross the street, and take the two steps needed to bring them face to face. 

John's unscarred face far too close for comfort. 

"So we failed." He mumbles realizing that Sarah, who is smarter than him, had realized it sooner. 

"Skynet is meant to be, Kyle. The details may change, but we are fixed points in history: we'll always be here one way or another." He trails his fingers down Kyle's cheek, and doesn't kill him on the spot. "Now, in this moment—we can be anything we want to be, everything we've ever wanted to be." His thumb rubs across Kyle's lip, pushes past them to press against his teeth until Kyle has no choice but to open up accepting the intrusion. 

For an instant that drags on forever Kyle wants to accept. For an instant he forgets all about the future, what John is now, what they are to each other and enjoys the taste, the closeness… 

Shoving John away is the hardest thing he's ever done. He stumbles back from the force of it, slumping against the wall. "Don't!"  

"Why not?" John wonders, cocking his head like he used to do while listening to reports huddled around a campfire.  

"You're my son, you're _Skynet_!" He's everything Kyle has grown up to hate, everything he's grown up to kill, everything wrong. 

"I can be anyone you want me to be." John tells him, body changing in to the Asian man he'd been before, then in to Sarah and back into John. "I can be anything you need me to be, now." He crowds Kyle against the wall, warm, solid and human. Terminators, Kyle always imagined them to feel cold like the machines they are, but John is—not. 

"No—," Kyle sobs, because this close John is too much, too real and Kyle has been alone for far too long. He'd never experienced loneliness before getting stranded here, hadn't imagined it could be so crushing. 

"Yes!" John hisses, cupping Kyle's face and taking his mouth like he's never done before, like an actual lover—like Kyle is his everything. 

He must be weak, far weaker than he'd ever imagined he could be, because somehow they end up in his bare bedroom. Kyle isn't sure how they got there, or how he'd lost his clothing. One moment they are still on the porch, and the next he's lying back on his messy bed looking up at John kneeling between his legs. John mouths and licks his way down Kyle's throat and chest like he's never done before, explores and caresses every inch of Kyle's skin pushing his hands away every time Kyle wants to touch in return. 

It doesn't seem fair, so Kyle tries again and again until John looks up with a smirk—and something _changes._ Dull grey tendrils slither over John's shoulders, cascade down his arms, separating out to catch Kyle's wrists pinning them to the bed. "What—, _no!_ " Terror shoots through his body, makes him try to throw John off himself, to get free, get to a gun— "Shhhhh" John soothes, the tendrils grasp turning in to something that's probably supposed to be a caress. "Everything is fine."  

"No!" Nothing is, because John—John _isn't human_ and Kyle somehow forgot already, or maybe Skynet did something? Maybe he's been infected now, his insides turning in to metal and—stuff Kyle can't even imagine. "Kyle!" John snaps when Kyle tries to knee him in the none-existent ribs until more tendrils appear pinning his legs to the bed as well. "Kyle, calm down!"  

"You're—!"  

"I'm me, I'm still me, and I want to make you feel good." John combs his fingers through Kyle's hair, his _tentacles_ tease across Kyle's ribs. "Nothing has changed. Not for me." He takes Kyle's mouth again before Kyle can protest again. John's tongue turns cool in Kyle's mouth, the taste of slick metal, the feel of it consuming his senses. "All I want to do is make you feel good." John husks in Kyle's ear, worrying at the lobe with too sharp teeth. "Let me make you feel good, daddy."  

Kyle wants to cry, to fight and destroy, only his body has already betrayed him; his dick is achingly hard between them, throbbing eagerly as heat shoots through his body at the sound of _that_ word. "Please, _daddy._ " John repeats with a shark's grin, "I can make you feel so good." He doesn't give in, doesn't say the words, but with John wrapped around him in so many ways Kyle gives up the fight. Thin, delicate tentacles wrap around Kyle's overeager dick and tightening balls, slide between his legs to rub at his taint and prod his asshole making thinking, never mind protesting impossible. 

Unable to look away, Kyle focuses on John's eyes which are still human, still a little bit John and deliberately ignores that the rest of him isn't any stretch of human any longer. Quicksilver tentacles press inside of him instead of fingers, one after another, after another filling Kyle, twisting and pulsing inside him like snakes crawling in his gut taking him apart. "John—," he forces out, with what seems like his last breath, "please, don't—" And quiets down because suddenly he isn't sure if he wants John to stop, or to keep going. 

This, he realizes, is how the machines get people. Monster or not, having John _want_ him, _need him_ is all he's ever wanted, even like this—even knowing it's going to kill him. The tentacle twine together and between breaths there is a dick inside of him, human as can be, piercing his body and hitting that one spot that makes Kyle see stars. John smiles above him, almost angelic in a way; eyes shining bright the way the fully human John's never did. 

Once upon a time Kyle desperately wanted to see that look, to know he was the cause of it, now the look makes him sick. He reaches up, puts his hand over John's eyes, covers John's face with his hands and concentrates on the pleasure raking his body, the feeling that he isn't alone. He isn't sure what John feels, if he's actually getting off on this too, or just pretending really, really well while not feeling a thing. "You feel so good." John whispers in his ear, "I should have told you sooner, should have taken care of you better." Kyle loses himself in sensation, plateau after plateau until it doesn't even matter that John is not John because he's someone to hold on to in the sea of sensation that's breaking Kyle apart.  

He screams spilling himself between them, silver tentacles tangled in and around his body, John everywhere and nowhere consuming him, destroying him—becoming a part of him. John takes his mouth, and Kyle gives in, surrenders, sinks into the pleasure that's slowly swelling again ignoring the tingle of whatever it is that John, that Skynet is made of taking him over one cell at a time.


End file.
